5: Revenge
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: This is my submission for the "50 Reasons to Have (Sherlolly) Sex" meme on Tumblr. Molly gets dumped by 'Tom', and decides she'd really like to take his words and make him eat them. So, naturally she turns to Sherlock for help. Rating is to be on the safe side.


This is my submission for the "50 Reasons to Have (Sherlolly) Sex" meme on Tumblr ( post/68948603922).

(**I don't own HIMYM or Sherlock. All rights belong to the creators/writers of those shows)**

Enjoy!

**#5: Revenge**

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

He'd taken it back. After the past year and a half of being together, he'd decided he couldn't live with the fact that she would always be friends with _him_. So, the final argument made, Molly pulled the engagement ring from her finger, and promptly threw it at Tom's head.

"Come on, Mols. You can't blame me for feeling this way. He's always been the love of your life, and now that he's back... Well, let's just say I can't settle for playing second chair to that guy." He gave a somber sigh, before moving to kiss her cheek. She recoiled from his touch, a disgusted expression on her face.

"Don't touch me! I can't believe you, Tom! Just go, since you're so keen on doing so!" Molly screamed through bitter tears, practically chasing him out the door as he turned and left. She slammed the door behind him, before crumbling against it in harsh sobs.

That night, however difficult, hadn't been the worst.

OoOo

She'd had about five drinks too many, and was completely alone. Never a good combination for mending a broken heart. Yet, Molly Hooper didn't rightly care at the moment, as she poured herself another glass of scotch. She only ever drank the stuff when times were especially glum, and hadn't turned to it since her father died. As she sat on her delightfully comfortable sofa, taking sip after sip, she thought over the past two years.

_Saying goodbye to him. _

_Saying 'hello' to Tom. _

_Ugh, Tom. That bastard!_

Another gulp of scotch to burn away her pain.

_Sherlock. Bloody Sherlock Holmes ruined yet another relationship._

It made her furious, the power that man held over her life, even when he didn't intend on it. She swallowed the last of her drink, and had gone to pour out another round. Sadly, the bottle only produced a final drop, its contents completely spent. Molly whimpered a bit, before she moved to make a terrible decision of finding her phone. In her mind, the very _least_ the detective could do was to bring her more alcohol. She hazily fired off a text, not caring in the least at the slight mistyped words.

_'Oi! Detective boy. Need more scoch. Brin me som. - Mollyy'_

She waited for the reply, which never chimed from her mobile. Instead, several minutes later, the painfully loud knock at her door told her the message must have got to him somehow. She happily skipped (or rather, stumbled) to the door, and yanked it open. There, standing before her, was a very apprehensive and almost concerned looking consulting detective.

OoOo

When he'd received her text, Sherlock had been listening to his flatmate discuss the pathologist's recent dumping.

"He just up and left her, and Mary can't seem to get a clear answer about why. The poor woman, finally finds herself a seemingly decent enough guy, and he turns out to be dirt, too." John muttered angrily as he sipped his tea. Sherlock's phone buzzed against the table top, alerting him of the incoming text. As he read the skewed message, his clever mind deciphered the jumbled words and their intended meaning. Without a word, he stood, tossing his coat over his arm, and walking toward the door.

"I'll be out, John. No need to wait up worrying. Have Mary over if you like, I won't be back until tomorrow." Before John could even open his mouth to ask questions, Sherlock was gone. He quickly walked outside and hailed a cab, giving the driver Molly's address. The drive there had consisted of him wondering if she was alright. He'd known about her little habit with the hard alcoholic beverage, and therefore knew that the situation was particularly bad if she was requesting that he bring her more. He decided to ignore her request, instead hoping she at least had coffee that he could make to sober her up. More than anything though, he wanted to be there for her. To take care of her.

When he had arrived, he quickly made his way to her front door, and gave it a harsh knock. From inside, he could hear her tripping over her own feet, the distinct sound of a bottle clunking to the floor as she maneuvered herself to open the door. He was practically startled as the door flew open, revealing, as he'd correctly predicted, a very inebriated Molly Hooper. It was even worse than he thought. He could see the empty bottle from his spot just outside her flat. It lay abandoned and emptied on the carpeted floor near her sofa. A throw blanket had been kicked away when she had come to answer the door, and it pooled loosely from the edge of the furniture.

"Hello, Sherlock. I'm so glad you're here, 'specially with my..." Molly's words slurred from her small lips, and her buzzing smile fell to a frown as she noted his empty hands. With a somber expression, she looked up at him.

"You di-n't bring any? W- why?" Her lip trembled a bit, the promise of drunken sobs peaking with her sad and confused words. Sherlock stepped into the room immediately, gently kicking the door closed behind him.

"Because you clearly don't need any more. Come on, let me make you some coffee for a change." He guided her by her shoulders back into the warm room, before carefully seating her down on the comfortable sofa. She let out a small whine, but let him direct her anyway. Sherlock then set about her kitchen, opening drawers and cupboards in search of her coffee. He found it quickly, and began to make a small pot that would bring his pathologist's wits back to her. He hadn't heard her move from the sofa, and he definitely hadn't heard her as she slowly padded up behind him, her hands soon wrapping themselves around his waist. Sherlock jolted with surprise, looking down to see her slender fingers curl around her wrists, effectively hugging him.

"Mol..."

"He was an idiot. Not very bright at all, not like you." She mumbled, her warm breath puffing through the fabric of his shirt. Sherlock strained to hear her, but was able to make out what she said.

"He really thought so low of me... that I would somehow drop him the moment you came back. What a prick." Sherlock chuckled a bit at her crass retort, her bitterness becoming obvious the more she spoke. He turned a bit in her hold, moving to redirect her to the living room once more. However, any plans were tossed to the wayside momentarily as he gazed at her form. The soft, creamy tone of her exposed skin, the curves lovelier than any pen could draw, that blooming rose that was the blush of her skin.

She was nude, and somehow, he'd only just noticed.

"Molly, what are you d-" He began to ask, but was immediately cut off by her mouth cutting his words to the quick, the searing kiss causing him to hush in his question. Her hands weave desperately into his shirt, clutching and scraping at his skin as she undoes button after button. His hands remain in their position, hovering over her shoulders as he hesitates to touch her. A moan from the petite woman's lips had the detective's mind dully losing its focus, wanting to slip into whatever dream this seemed to be. A nip at his lip had him slamming on the brakes to his quickly relaxed state of being, and he firmly took hold of her shoulders.

"Molly. Look at me. You don't want to do this. You're too drunk to think clearly, and..." He was cut off again by an aggravated growl from her. Molly slapped his hands away, before she secured her own around his neck, bringing her body flush against his. She kissed his jaw, shaking her head when he tried to talk.

"I wish people would stop telling me what I want. Tom telling me that I'd want you as soon as I saw you again. That I'd _always_ want you more than him, so he left. Now, I finally decide to give in and let him tell me what I want, and then you come along, and tell me I _don't_ want it. Well, too bad, Mr. Clever Man, you can't tell me what I want and don't want." Molly ranted softly, her eyes closed as she tried to regulate her shaky breathing. Sherlock had moved his hands back to grip the counter, not wanting to touch her anywhere he'd deem 'indecent'. Her lips had begun moving against his skin once she'd finished her lament. As she neared the shell of his ear, he felt her hands clasping around his own. With a quick jarring sweep, his hands connected with the soft flesh of her bum, being held in place by her own hands.

"Touch me, Sherlock. Please, touch me," Molly whispered, her voice helpless, longing, and utterly lonely in its sad pleading. His mind flashed back instantly to two years before, when she'd asked what he needed, and the answer was her. Clearly now, despite it not being his intentions, she needed him. He wasn't about to let her down, not now. A gentle flex in his fingertips told her that he could take over, and she moved her arms back up to work around the muscles of his shoulders.

The callouses of his fingertips and palms glided over her supple flesh, gripping hold of it lightly as he moved against her. The warm air of her flat hit his exposed skin, and he realized his shirt was halfway down his arms, the pathologist taking to kissing along his collar. The more of her that he touched, the more his own desire seemed to flare, the heat of her skin setting his lust to a raging boil inside his gut. He'd stopped touching her only long enough to get rid of his shirt, and was soon running his hands along the curve of her spine. Molly fidgeted with the button to his trousers, yanking a bit too hard on an attempt. Sherlock bit down a groan of both pain and want as he stared down at the drunken girl, her foggy concentration almost endearing as she tried to figure out the workings of the clasp.

"Molly, will you at least let me take you into the other room? I hardly see how... doing this in the kitchen will... fully satisfy... you." He was able to grind out his statement, if just barely, considering the woman in question was currently unhinging his ability to think with the slight grazing of her hand. She chuckled almost darkly, before nodding her head.

"Sure. Come with me." He followed right behind her, watching the way her hips swayed back and forth as she walked them to the living room. A silent request for him to sit down had Sherlock following her wish, practically diving for the sofa's middle cushion. He gazed up at her as she straddled his lap, her delicate and skilled hands bringing his own to cup her waist. Molly leaned in and kissed him fervently this time, clearly wanting to speed the process along. Moments later of the heavy snogging had the pair gasping for breath, their foreheads pressed against each other.

"He'd hate knowing we did this. It'd _crush_ him," she said in a husky tone. Sherlock glanced up at her, to find her hazel colored irises almost black. A strong hand carefully wove into her hair, and he pulled her back down for another kiss. They broke apart again, and she continued to ramble, not realizing the slurred and tired words she said.

"I mean, especially since you don't even... feel that way about me. He'd say you were using me, or that I was using you." Molly's small figure seemed to stiffen at that thought, and when Sherlock went to trace her lips with his tongue again, he was greeted with a salty taste instead of the taste of scotch. He looked up to find her eyes clouded over, tears silently slipping out one by one. Her gaze seemed to look right through him, and he sat up completely, holding her still so she wouldn't fall.

"Molly?"

"Oh God, what am I doing? I... Sherlock. I'm so- I'm so sorry." Her voice dropped into silence with each passing phrase, until she was condensed to quivering sobs, muffled only by her clamped lips. She sank down on his lap, her shame becoming apparent. It was then that Sherlock could see the signs of _his_ Molly returning to her own mind. The fear had began crowding in the corners of those soft and wet eyes, fear he recognized all too well. He vowed that, instead of harsh deductions or ridicule, she'd only encounter comfort from him.

Sherlock hushed her as he pulled her close, cradling her like a babe, and proceeded to let her cry out her sorrows onto his shoulder. When she had run dry, and her breathing had returned to normal, he snagged the blanket from just feet away. A careful maneuver with the slight dexterity of his toes, and the throw was up and into his grasp. He quietly pulled it around her, tucking the corners around her exposed skin. The sleeping girl in his arms snuggled closer to his chest, silently signifying just how much she really did need him on this night. So, not wanting to disappoint her, he stayed.

OoOo

When she woke the next morning, the massive hangover that loomed in her head reminded her of what had happened, or rather, what _hadn't_, the night before. She frantically looked around for signs of the consulting detective, with no trace of him to be found. She looked down at herself, smiling a bit as she discovered herself fully clothed.

Coffee was in high need, and so Molly made her way to the kitchen. There was no crumpled shirt on the floor, no sign that anything had been amiss at all the previous night. In fact, the only indicator that she hadn't dreamed any of it, was the freshly brewed pot of coffee already waiting for her. A clean and empty mug sat on the counter next to it, along with a folded note. As she poured herself a cup, Molly's eyes skimmed over his messy scrawl.

_'Like I said, allow me to make you coffee at least once. Already phoned Bart's, told them you'd fallen ill. Please get some rest. - Sherlock'_

Her smile grew a bit brighter, and she took her first sip of the liquid, cure-all brew. It was on her second drink that she flipped the paper over, and saw a continued note jotted down.

_'If, when you are sober, you would still like to discuss the options of getting back at Tom, you know where to find me.'_

Molly nearly choked on the hot beverage, her eyes widening as she read the words a few times over. Several silent minutes passed by, and finally Molly came to a decision.

She'd make him wait, if only to serve as punishment for trying to convince her of what she _didn't_ want.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

There you have it folks! So, I know nothing actually happened, but the reason I chose this one was because I really wanted to try and push the envelope on how far Molly would go with the whole 'revenge sex' thing, before her conscience got the better of her. Hope you all liked it! Leave a review, if you please?


End file.
